In the afternoon, while Laura was out of the room, Sir Percival referred to Anne Catherick's letter.

"I read Mr Gilmore's letter to my lawyer," he said, "and I want to give you a full explanation. Mrs Catherick, you see, worked for me and my family for many years. Her marriage was unfortunate, in that her husband deserted her, and her only child, a girl, became mentally ill and needed to be put in an asylum. So, in recognition of Mrs Catherick's services, I agreed to pay the expenses of a private asylum for the girl. Unfortunately, the girl discovered this and consequently developed a hatred for me. She recently escaped from the asylum and I'm sure she wrote this letter because of her hatred for me. It's all very sad."

It was a sad day when Walter Hartright left us. Laura stayed in her room all day, and I felt sad and depressed. Poor Mr Gilmore must have had a dull time, and the next morning, when Laura reappeared looking pale and ill, I thought he seemed rather anxious about her. I was anxious too. Laura is such a sensitive and loving person that it was no surprise to me to find that she had grown fond of Walter. Indeed, I have grown fond of him myself. But I honestly believe that time will cure Laura of these feelings.

Two days after Walter left, Sir Percival Glyde arrived. He is forty-five years old but seems younger. He is handsome, and only a little bald, has perfect manners, and is pleasant, agreeable, and respectful. I really must try to like him.

"May I beg you, Miss Halcombe," he said politely, "to write to Mrs Catherick to ask if these facts are true?"

Mr Gilmore found this explanation perfectly satisfactory, and said so. He then looked at me for agreement, but I was struggling with a sense of unease that I could not explain, and hesitated before answering. Sir Percival noticed this at once.

"No. She spoke to nobody except Mr Hartright," I replied.

I did not want to agree to this, but how could I refuse, without making the situation even more embarrassing than it already was? So I went to the desk, wrote a note, and gave it to him. Without looking at it, he put it in an envelope and wrote the address.

"It is my duty to try to find her," he continued. "Tomorrow I will go to this farm and make enquiries." Soon afterwards he left to go up to his room.

"Now that is done," he said, "may I ask if Anne Catherick spoke to Miss Fairlie, or to you?"

I described the farm to him.

"Ah, yes, the drawing teacher," he said thoughtfully. "And did you discover where Anne Catherick was staying?"

That evening and the next day Sir Percival took every opportunity to bring Laura into the conversation, but she hardly took any notice. He went to the farm to make his enquiries about Anne Catherick, but learnt nothing. Then on Wednesday a letter came from Mrs Catherick -- a short, business-like letter, thanking me for my note and saying that everything Sir Percival had told me was completely correct.

Why did I still have doubts? This, surely, was enough proof for anyone, but how I wished that Walter Hartright had been there to give his opinion! At Sir Percival's request I now had to give Laura his explanation of Anne Catherick's letter. She listened quietly and showed no emotion, but I noticed that on the table near her hand was the little book of Hartright's drawings. I also had to tell her that the reason for Sir Percival's visit was to fix the day of their marriage.

"Oh no, Marian! I can't do that!" she said. "Please ask him, beg him, to allow me more time. I promise to give him a final answer before the end of the year, but not yet, please, not yet."

"I'm afraid he will ask you to decide quite soon, Laura."

"I have to return to London tomorrow," he said to me, "and I need to discuss the financial side of this marriage with Miss Fairlie before I go. As you know, she will inherit a great deal of money and property when she becomes twenty-one next March, and I must include all this in the marriage agreement in a way that reflects Miss Fairlie's own wishes, and is also acceptable to Sir Percival."

He had the meeting with Laura the next morning, and in the afternoon he left for London, looking rather sad and thoughtful. Wondering what had been said, I hurried up to Laura's room.

"Oh, Marian, come in," she said. "I need to talk to you."

"What is it, Laura? Is it about the marriage agreement?"

Sir Percival agreed to this request, and when Mr Gilmore heard about it, he arranged to have a private talk with Laura.

"No. I couldn't even bear to discuss that with Mr Gilmore. I'm ashamed to say that all I could do was cry. He was very kind and good, Marian, and he said that he would look after everything for me. No, what I wanted to tell you was this. I cannot bear the situation any longer. I must end it."

"I cannot deceive him," she said. "I have thought it over carefully. After I have told him, let him do as he wishes."

"No," she said simply. "I cannot break my promise to my father. But I want to tell the truth, and I will confess to Sir Percival that I love someone else."

Her eyes were bright and she spoke with great energy. I began to feel alarmed. "What do you wish to do, Laura darling? Do you want to be released from your promise to marry Sir Percival?"

"Laura! He has no right to know that!" I said in amazement.

I looked into her innocent, loving eyes and could say nothing. I just put my arms around her, trying not to cry myself.

"May I speak to him tomorrow, in your presence, Marian?"

I held her tight and agreed -- though I was not sure I was doing the right thing. Indeed, I was not sure of anything. I could not understand how I had failed to see how deeply she loved Walter Hartright. For the first time in my life I had made a mistake about her. Now I realized that she would love him all her life.

At exactly eleven Sir Percival knocked and entered, with anxiety and worry in every line of his face. This meeting would decide his future life, and he obviously knew it.

The first thing that happened the next morning did nothing to make me feel more cheerful. A letter arrived for me from poor Walter Hartright. He had decided to leave England and asked me if I could help him find employment abroad. I was then alarmed to read that since his return to London he had neither seen nor heard anything of Anne Catherick, but suspected he had been watched and followed by strange men. I was worried about his state of mind, so I immediately wrote to some friends in London to ask if they could help him find a suitable job in another country. Laura, of course, knew nothing about these letters.

Sir Percival did not join us for breakfast, but sent a message, saying he would meet us at eleven o'clock, as arranged. Laura seemed calm and unusually self-controlled. I had never seen her like this. It was almost as if love had created a new force in her character.

His face relaxed a little, but I saw one of his feet nervously beating the carpet.

"You may wonder, Sir Percival," said Laura calmly, "if I am going to ask to be released from my promise to marry you. I am not going to ask this. I respect my father's wishes too much."

"Mine?" he said in great surprise. "What reason could I have for withdrawing?"

"No, if we are going to withdraw from our planned marriage, it will be because of your wish, Sir Percival, not mine."

"A reason that is very hard to tell you," she answered. "There is a change in me."

His face went so pale that even his lips lost their colour. He turned his head to one side.

"When the promise was made two years ago," she said, "my love did not belong to anyone. Will you forgive me, Sir Percival, if I tell you that it now belongs to another person?"

"What change?" he asked, trying to hide his nervousness.

Her tears started to fall, and Sir Percival hid his face behind his hand, so that it was impossible to know what he was thinking. He made no answer, and my temper got the better of me.

"Sir Percival!" I said sharply. "Have you nothing to say? You have already heard more than you have a right to hear."

"But I didn't ask for that right," he said, avoiding my question.

"I wish you to understand," Laura continued, "that I will never see this person again, and that if you leave me, you only allow me to remain a single woman for the rest of my life. All I ask is that you forgive me and keep my secret."

"I will do both those things," he said. Then he looked at Laura, as if he was waiting to hear more.

"I think I have said enough to give you reason to withdraw from our marriage," she added quietly.

"No. You have said enough to make it the dearest wish of my life to marry you," he said, getting up and advancing towards her.

Laura gave a cry of surprise, but I had more than half expected this. Every word she had spoken had shown her honesty and her innocence, but these fine qualities had destroyed her own hopes of a release. Sir Percival understood very well the priceless value of a pure and true woman. Why would he give her up now?

"Never!" she answered, looking more beautiful than ever. "I will be your true and loyal wife, but never your loving wife."

"I will do everything I can to earn your love," he said, "and perhaps in time I will win it."

Then she threw herself on the sofa and cried as if her heart was breaking, until at last she fell asleep.

"That is enough for me. I accept your loyalty and your truth," he said, then raised her hand to his lips and silently left the room.

In the days that followed it seemed that nothing could prevent this miserable marriage from taking place. I tried to make Laura change her mind, but she was determined to keep her promise, and to do her duty. Mr Fairlie was, of course, very happy that the "family worry" was now at an end and suggested that the sooner his niece got married the better. This made me very angry, but when I told Laura, I was surprised by her calm reply.

Laura sat without moving. I put my arm around her. At last she said," I must resign myself, Marian. If you write to Walter, don't tell him how unhappy I am. And if I die first, please say to him, say what I could never say myself -- say I loved him!"

I thought that a change would do Laura good, so I arranged for us both to go and stay with some friends in Yorkshire. She passively agreed with my idea. I also wrote to Mr Gilmore, telling him this marriage would now take place.

Sir Percival was delighted by this news, and he then left to prepare for the bride's reception at his house in Hampshire.

"My uncle is right. I have caused trouble and anxiety to everyone. Let Sir Percival decide on the day for our marriage."

The next day I received a letter from Walter Hartright, saying that my friends had got him a job on an expedition to Central America. He was going to be the artist for the expedition. He was leaving on 21st November and would be away for six months. I could only hope that this was for the best.

Laura and I then departed for Yorkshire but after only nine days there we received a letter from Mr Fairlie, calling us back to Limmeridge immediately. What could this mean, I wondered?

I found out as soon as we arrived. Mr Fairlie and Sir Percival had agreed on 22nd December for the wedding, provided that Laura also agreed. Would I please persuade her, said Mr Fairlie. His nerves were much too bad to talk to her himself.

"Secondly, when Miss Fairlie reaches the age of twenty-one next March, she will receive the income from ￡10,000. This ￡10,000 will go to her aunt Eleanor, if Miss Fairlie dies before her aunt -- which is not very likely. The reason Miss Fairlie's father did not leave the ￡10,000 to his sister Eleanor on his death was that he disapproved strongly of her marriage to a foreigner, even though the man was an Italian nobleman, Count Fosco."

"I am not at all happy about the financial arrangements in the agreement, Miss Halcombe," he said, "but there is nothing I can do about it. I know how fond you are of your sister and I think you ought to know why I am concerned.

I also found our old friend Mr Gilmore, who had come to talk to Mr Fairlie about the marriage agreement. He was leaving that day, and was anxious to speak to me alone before he left.

"As you will know," he went on, "there are three parts to Miss Fairlie's inheritance. Firstly, on Mr Fairlie's death, she will inherit the Limmeridge property and land, and the income from it. If she dies childless, this property will go to a cousin, but the income from it will go to her husband during his lifetime. If she has a son, everything -- property and income -- will go to the son. No problems there.

"Well," Mr Gilmore went on, "there are no problems there either. But the third part of Miss Fairlie's inheritance is more difficult. Next March she will also inherit ￡20,000, which will be her own money completely. If she dies before her husband, the income from the ￡20,000 will go to Sir Percival for his lifetime, and the capital will go to their children. If there are no children to inherit the capital, Miss Fairlie can choose relations and friends to inherit the money when she dies. That's what I proposed, but Sir Percival's lawyer did not accept it. He insists that if Sir Percival survives his wife and there are no children, Sir Percival should receive the capital. In that case, nothing will go to any other member of the family, including you, Miss Halcombe."

Mr Gilmore sighed deeply. "I protested strongly. I tried every argument I could, but nothing would change the lawyer's mind. I've discovered, you see, that Sir Percival is always in debt and always in need of cash. My last effort has been to come here, to try and persuade Mr Fairlie to oppose this demand from Sir Percival's lawyer. I am sorry to say I have not succeeded. Mr Fairlie wishes to avoid all responsibility for his niece's marriage arrangements. He says that his niece will not die before Sir Percival anyway, so what is there to worry about?"

"Yes, Laura has told me about that," I said.

Mr Gilmore stood up to go and picked up his hat. "I shall complete the agreement and send it in. I have no choice. If I don't do it, Mr Fairlie will find another lawyer who will. But I tell you, Miss Halcombe, no daughter of mine should be married to any man alive under such an agreement as I am forced to make for Miss Fairlie."

With that, he shook my hand, and without another word he went away to catch his train back to London.

"Well, let me speak to Mr Fairlie, then," I said, ready to fight for her. "I will try to change it."

After he had gone, I tried to be sensible. Mr Fairlie was Laura's guardian and if he chose to accept this agreement, there was nothing I could do about it. It was just one more worry about this dreadful marriage. A more immediate worry was the date of the wedding. When I told Laura, she turned pale and trembled.

"Not so soon!" she cried. "Oh, Marian, not so soon!"

"No," she said faintly. "Too late, Marian, too late! It will only make more trouble. Please tell my uncle I agree."

I think I would have cried if I had not been so angry. I rushed into Mr Fairlie's room and shouted loudly, "Laura agrees to the twenty-second" -- and rushed out again, banging the door noisily. I hoped I had destroyed his nerves for the whole day.

All too quickly the days passed. Sir Percival arrived, looking a little tired and anxious but talking and laughing like the happiest of men. The evening after he arrived he went off to the village to ask if anyone had any news of Anne Catherick. No one had heard anything, but I had to admit that it was good of him to continue to try to help her. I have decided to try and think better of him. After all, what reason do I have to distrust him? I am sure that I could like him if I really tried.

After this the wedding preparations began. The dressmakers came and went all the time; there was packing, and planning, and all kinds of arrangements to make. We heard every day from Sir Percival. After the wedding he proposed to take Laura to Italy for six months. They would meet a number of Sir Percival's friends there, including his best and oldest friend, Count Fosco, whose wife, of course, was Laura's Aunt Eleanor. At least this marriage would bring Laura and her aunt together again, I thought. The Count himself sounded a most interesting person, and I rather hoped that I would meet him one day.

It is getting quite easy to like him. Today I spoke to him about the dearest wish of both Laura and myself -- that I should be able to live with Laura after her marriage, just as I had always lived with her before. He agreed instantly and seemed delighted with the plan. I would be the ideal, the perfect companion for his wife, he said. Yes, I am beginning to like Sir Percival very much.

I hate Sir Percival! He has no sensitivity, no kindness, no good feeling. Last night he whispered something in Laura's ear -- she has refused to tell me what it was -- and her face turned white with misery. He took no notice at all, and all my suspicions of him have returned. Is he now showing his true character? He seems more restless and nervous than before, and is often sharp and bad-tempered. I have this strange idea that something might happen to prevent the marriage -- and that he is afraid of that. A foolish thought. I must forget it.

As the day of our separation grows nearer, Laura cannot bear to have me out of her sight. I must be brave and cheerful, for her sake, but my fear will not go away. Will this marriage be the one terrible mistake of her life, and the one hopeless sorrow of mine?

It is the twenty-second. No more time for tears. Laura is dressed, and we leave for the church. By eleven o'clock they are married. By three o'clock they are gone. I am blind with crying and can write no more…